Obsidian Wings
by Punish-The-Guilty
Summary: An alternate ending for the season one finale. John Reese has been kidnapped by a mad scientist that is determined to turn him into...an angel? What will Finch do? A winged Reese fic/ AU /NO SLASH
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, this is my first POI fic. Recently I have fallen in love with wingfics so i decided to make one of my own. There are no parings in this story. This is completely AU. I own nothing. Enjoy! and please Reveiw.**

**J.C**

**Prologue **

The subject lay on a massive cross-shaped table, several leather straps secured him. The observer drew closer to the prisoner. The prisoner was eerily beautiful; his body was tall and muscular and his silvery hair sharply contrasted his pale golden skin. He was divine. He was perfect. Soon he would be what he was so desperately trying to be a surreal protector. An Angel.

**Chapter One: Yesterday**

John Reese ran pulling the latest number along. The number's name was Caroline Turing. Satisfied that they had momentarily evaded the pursuers, John reached into his pocket for his cellphone. It was gone. Great, no Harold in help him.

Turing pulled his arm. "I know where we are" she panted. "I have a friend nearby. Maybe he'll help us.

Quickly reviewing his short list of current options, John consented to her recommendation. He has a space on Dock Street. They started running again. After running down several blocks and ducking through a dark alley. The pair stood in front of a tall, barb-wired fence surrounding an imposing warehouse. Pausing at the gate, Turing hit the intercom and said "it's me, could you be a guardian angel and open the gate. The heavy locks silently retracted. Caroline wasted no time pushing through the gate and bolting to the building.

Suspicion licked up John's spine, but he ignored it. Swiftly he followed her. The building seemed even more suspicious up close. Turing had approached a strong metal door outfitted with a combination lock and was punching a long string of numbers into the keypad. "My friend is a scientist: the paranoid antisocial kind of scientist" she explained hastily.

Once the door was open she quickly disappeared into the building's dark interior. Despite his increasing unease, John followed. Inside he could barely make out a door, from the faint light leaking around the frame. He noticed that Turing was next to it, and caught up. The inside of the new room was even stranger than the warehouse's exterior. It was large, well-lit, and completely white. The whole room was lined with metal lab tables containing various scientific equipment on the other side of the room was another door. On the table closest to him he could see several diagrams of the skeletal, muscular, and vascular structure…of wings?

* * *

Harold was beside himself. John and the POI were in trouble and he had no idea where they were. He couldn't find them... couldn't help them. The old feeling of guilt and helpless crashed down, reminding him of the times before Reese.

* * *

The door on the other side of the room opened, and a man strode into their room. The stranger appeared to be in his sixties. He had light skin, straight features, and ghostly gray eyes. He might have been handsome if not for the sinister maniacal gleam in his pale eyes. However, John's apprehensions were cut short as a needle punctured his neck. The confused and wary expression had vanished from Turing's face to be replaced by a predatory grin. Dazed, Reese numbly sank to the floor. The unknown man crouched next to him as the dark edges closed in. "Oh, he's perfect" The madman purred.

* * *

**This first chapter is the shortest so stay tuned**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the next chapter. Let me know what you think. I forgot to do this last chapter: I own nothing. Any relation to current events is purely coinicidental.**

**J.C**

**Chapter two: Where?**

When John awoke he was lying on his stomach on a metal surface, in a dimly lit room. He could feel several leather straps securing his body to whatever he was on. It was at that time that he realized his shirt, jack, socks, and shoes were missing. Groggily, he tried to remember what had happened. When movement caught his eye.

In his peripheral vision, he noticed a pair colorless eyes staring hungrily from the shadows. Instantly, he recalled what had happened with the last number. He hadn't listened to his instincts, and had been captured by a man who clearly deranged.

From the shadows Dr. Stokes watched as his future angel awoke. Awake, the angel appeared much older than when he was asleep. His eyes told the life of a soldier, his hard expression a life of discipline and disappointments. John Reese was no sort of name for such a divine creature. No, he would rename him Nemamiah: The Angel of Just Causes. The angel that defended the defenseless.

Tensely, John watched as his captor walked up to him. It was the same older gray-eyed man; however, now he was wearing surgical gloves and thick rubber gloves. His kidnapper began to speak; "Now you have no idea how lucky you are." _Lucky?_ That was definitely not the word He would have used to describe being kidnapped by a psycho. Unfortunately there was more to this mad speech; "I am about to turn you into what you so desperately strive to be. Flying to defend the helpless, you try to be an Angel."

Perfect, he had been kidnapped by a psycho that thought he would be doing him a favor by doing something horrible to him. This was starting to sound like a bad horror movie.

Leaning forward the man continued" I've been working on a way to do just that. The man's voice was warm and caring, he could have passed for a concerned father is not for the animalistic gleam in his eyes.

"What I have to do will hurt, but any sort of anesthetic would interfere with the process. You have no idea how many times I had to try to get it right. Let's begin" He finished with a satanic grin.

Reaching under the table, he pulled out a large medical case. Reverently, he opened it. Inside the case were a dozen large shots. Each needle was nearly a foot long and almost half a centimeter wide. The syringes were proportionally large and filled with a thick, green, milky substance. Despite all his training and experience, John could not help but feel afraid at the prospect of being a experiment subject for a mad scientist.

Stokes began plunging the needles in Reese's back. Five needles where placed along the length of each shoulder blade and the remaining two were placed near his spine at the same level. He knew those needles would hurt, but this hurt more then he imagined. It took every gram of control not to scream.

Once all the needles were positioned properly, Stokes proceeded to bring up a strange wired device. The device consisted of a dozen wires that ended in metal clamps. Expertly, he attached a clamp to the ends of the syringes. When he was finished he calmly walked to the back wall and flipped a large switch.

That was it, John screamed as the switch was flipped. It was pure agony as electricity flooded his body and as the thick burning substance invaded his back. Until at last John fell into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

* * *

Harold paced in the library. It had been nearly twenty-six hours since he heard from Reese. Finch has already dispatched Carter and Fusco to suspected locations, but neither detective had found anything. In his desperation, he had even sent Zoe Morgan to do some digging on the last number. When his cellphone rang, filled with hope, he answered. It was Ms. Morgan. "I'm at Turing's office. Everything about her is a lie. Her hard drive even erased itself." "Thanks," Harold said curtly. This mess was all his fault. Turing( or whatever her real name was) had played the machine… had played him. It was his fault his John was gone. John Reese may have had a past. He may have been a killer, but he was his only friend. He had let him down. From the window he stared out at the skyline. "I will find you," he promised.

* * *

**Several Hours Later**

Moaning, John slowly returned to consciousness. He was still immobilized on the table, but he couldn't have moved if he was free. He was in so much pain. It felt like someone was pulling out a piece of his spine and wrenched off his shoulder blades. Even moving his eyes hurt.

"Hello Nemamiah" greeted a hearty voice from behind him. The inflicted ex-operative could only softly groan.

Ignoring his creation's pain, Stokes continued.

"Nemamiah is the Angel of Just Causes, which is exactly why it is your new name. John Reese is much too common for a being like you. Fortunately, the process is started. Now all that's left to do is wait."

Once he was finished, Stokes quietly walked up to him and injected a sedative into the skin on the back of John's neck. His angel needed to rest if the process was to be successful. His heart soared, as he looked at the small wings that were growing on the unconscious man's back. Each wing was about six inches in length, the beginnings of small dark feathers were already pushing their way through the thin skin. Reaching forward, he gently rubbed one of the wings between his forefinger and thumb, He could feel the delicate bones and sinew in his grasp. Carefully, he stroked the feathers, before leaving his captive to rest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Searching**

**Here's the next chapter. Thanks for all the reviews and follows. Extra Special Thanks for I-AM-JANUS for helping me edit it. I own nothing**

* * *

**Several Weeks Later**

Unable to rest, Finch had resorted to sifting through the data banks of several government agencies: the CIA, FBI, and NSA. Anything he could get his hands on. In his desperation he had even dispatched his private security offers and sources within the various agencies. He was desperate for any sort of lead on his missing colleague. At first he had thought that Mark Snow had finally captured his target or that Agent Donelly had apprehended the mysterious Man-in-a-suit. However, the data banks had shown this was not the case. So he continued looking.

After weeks of seemingly endless searching, Finch came across a disturbing case on a serial killer known as Doctor Autobahn. Over a hundred victims had been found with multiple stab wounds on their backs, covered in electric burns, and pumped full of dangerous chemicals, avian hormones, and a mix of several avian DNAs. All of the victims bore a disturbing resemblance to Reese. All of the victims were over six feet tall, physically fit, late thirties, dark-haired, and of Italian descent. Finch would have filed it away as a frightening coincidence, but all of them shared John's AB- blood type. That was simply too much to ignore. Shaken, Harold realized that there was a high chance his friend was in the hands of an insane scientist.

Best case scenario, his trusted partner was dead and safe from that mad man's experiments. The worst case was… Finch let a tears slip out one of his clenched eyes. He had lost his best friend again, and again it was his fault. Throughout his life, Harold Finch had considered very few individuals friends. He considered even fewer people best friends. In his entire life he had only considered Nathan, and later John, as a best friend, and in his paranoia he had never really trusted either man. Neither man had even known his real name or origins, all he had shown them was a mask. This inability was another thing to weight on his conscience. He would never make that up, all he could do was try and find this killer…for John.

Harold was a man possessed. He was constantly checking the progress of the Doctor Autobahn case. The Federal team originally assigned to the case was perplexed and fearful. Honestly Harold couldn't blame them. After all, the _doctors _had kidnapped and murdered over a hundred young men, monsters like that did not just suddenly stop. That fact alone spoke volumes for John's situation, whatever had happened to John had been profound enough to cause that mad man to stop. It clicked the Determined, the genius pursued his search. He already had created his own profile on the kidnapper. Autobahn abducted tall young men, so he had to be a healthy male. The Damage done to the victims spoke of an extensive knowledge of biology and chemistry. All the chemical, hormones, and DNA for so many victims had to be expensive, so rich. However, Autobahn was getting his supplies he was keeping well below the radar. The FBI didn't have a chance of finding him; However, Harold's search methods were far superior to those of the agents, and for him this was personal.

Nathan had once told him that everyone was relevant to someone. It had taken him a long time to realize how true that was. He had thought that those numbers were unimportant to the bigger picture. It was ironic, how people-their hopes, their dreams, their memories- in the end their lives were only nine numbers. Forgive me, he silently pleaded with that list. Those potential victims or perpetrators would have to wait. John Reese was relevant to him. That mission was not a one man job, he needed his partner to save them.

* * *

Over his imprisonment, John's wings had continued to grow. His kidnapper had kept him carefully drugged, in order to ensure the wings proper development. The hollow bones were much too delicate for jostling. The prisoner spent several weeks in an uncomprehending fog. Finally he was snapped into awareness. His eyes flashed open, and air heaved into his lungs, as though he had drowned. His eyes darted about frantically and he noticed that he was in a different room. How long had he been here, days longer?

This new room had a cot, which he had been lying on and a screened off area that he assumed housed a bathroom. Well, he guessed this was an improvement to the Frankenstein room. He was no longer strapped down, but he could feel the heaviness of shackles on his ankles. Slowly and stiffly, he raised himself off the uncomfortable surface. As he forced himself into a sitting position, his muscles screamed in protest. His back was by far the sorest part of his anatomy. As he carefully flexed his back muscles, there was an unfamiliar twinge in his muscles and strange pull on his skin. Apprehensively, he twisted to survey the damage. He had expected to see some sort of scar or maybe a strange implant, but when saw what was there his heart nearly came to his throat.

When he had first seen them he couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. Two wings lay neatly folded on his back. Each wing was nearly a yard in length and covered in shining ebony feathers. Uneasily, he ran his fingers over the feather. His disquiet growing with every movement, the more he looked at them, felt them the more real it became.

He wondered if he could move them. It should be impossible, but still…. He rolled his shoulders experimentally and shuddered at the sensation. He could feel them.

Stokes enjoyed watching the wings grow immensely. The wings were amazing. They were the epiphany of his scientific career and the fulfillment of a mad dream. He waited with barely contained excitement for the wings to reach their full size.

All John could do was watch with a strange fascination and wait as his new appendages grew longer and stronger every day.

* * *

**There we go. Let me know what you think of it.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello, PTG here. Sorry about the wait. I was trying to absorb as much of the summer as possible. The credit for most of this chapter goes to I-AM-JANUS. I own nothing.**

**Chapter Four: Detectives**

**Carter**

Detective Carter stared at the body of the girl on the examination table before. Abigail Green, a twenty year old college student, good grades, gave to charity, volunteered at the local orphanage. A good girl, killed in cold blood for the fifty bucks in her wallet.

She reminisced on the fate of "Mr. Suit" and "Mr. Glasses". Would they have been able to stop this? The perp had noticed her walking home alone for days now, so he'd been planning it. Would they have seen it coming, would they have known?

The past couple of months had been pretty quiet without their mysterious calls and tips. No more hiding from her superiors, no more shaking tails, and no more helping save lives. The anxiety had been building since the first week without their rendezvous, and had hit a fever pitch. A million possibilities floated through her mind: _Did the CIA find them? Would they come after her next if they had? Had they been kidnapped? Was one—or both—of them dead?_ Lord knew there was enough bad blood between them and….well, half of New York for any of these foreboding thoughts to be a possibility.

The last time she had heard from Glasses was that case with HR being after a Caroline Turing. She had gone to the location, but hadn't found anything. She wished she could have found him, if only to thank him. Carter owed the man that much after he had saved her and Taylor.

He was a good man. It had taken a lot for her to accept that he worked outside the law, but she saw the necessity, understood it. She had never hero-worshipped vigilantes before, not even the comic characters when she was a kid, but she couldn't help but admire the bravery of these two. It was that admiration that spurred her concern.

It didn't even look like any other agency knew of the former spy's whereabouts either. Snow had stopped prowling about with his lackey, Evans, and the FBI task force created for catching said vigilante had run into a dead end.

* * *

**Fusco**

Detective Fusco watched as his breath in the air as he exhaled, and pulled his jacket tighter around him. Even for New York, the Fall had been darn cold. Autumn—the passing of seasons never concerned him before now, he just adjusted as was fit. Putting on more layers to deal with the damnable chill of winter and turning up the AC to deal with the scorching heat of summer. But now, he found himself noticing the passing of seasons rather acutely.

When the "mutual friend" disappeared in May, it was another unusually nippy month, and he remembered having to wear a jacket as he and Carter perused the site where their "colleague" had last been seen and their mutual unease when there was not a trace of man or where he may have gone.

Summer had been filled with more murders than the precinct had seen in a decade, and as the sweat poured down his neck, he had the distinct feeling that Mr. Reese would have been able to stop at least half of them without so much as a drop of sweat on his brow.

Now it was Autumn, and the crime rate had risen 40%. The worst year for murders and kidnapping that the city had ever seen, and now there wasn't anyone to help out backstage.

He wasn't sure what to think about Wonder Boy's sudden absence from his life. It was strange how he missed the inconvenient phone calls, the dangerous errands, the threats.

It had been a long time since he had heard from the professor guy. The Last time the owlish man had called he had sent Fusco looking for Reese. He hadn't found any trace of the dark-haired man. No blood, no body, not even the cell phone.

Over time Fusco had come to respect him. Although in the beginning the vigilante had blackmailed him into being his source, over time began to feel increasingly loyal to the former soldier. Sure the guy was annoying, but even Lionel had to admit that he saved countless lives.

He liked helping with that. When Reese had picked him, he had just been corrupt cop that was tired of trying to fix the system and decided to if things weren't going to change, he might as well get his cut. Maybe he did it out of loyalty; Reese had changed him, he cared about the potential victims. It didn't matter what he had done before, but Fusco knew what he was doing now.

* * *

**Snow**

Mark Snow is not a patient man, this is a simple fact of the universe. He is not patient, he is not lenient, and—whether it is because of a lost fugitive, or the trainee skipping on the sugar in his coffee—he is very easily frustrated. It didn't take much, just tripping on the sidewalk or catching a typo in a report and he would be irritable for the rest of the day. Most days, his superior training helped him mask his emotions and everyone got on well enough, but now—now he had been pushed too far. To lose a civilian fugitive is bad enough, but for John Reese, the man the CIA had been after for years now to simply vanish without a trace? That was unacceptable.

He had been so close to catching Reese, but once again the former agent had vanished. After being on his trail for so many months, Snow couldn't believe that John would just leave the city. Even after nearly being killed by the ambush Snow had orchestrated, he hadn't left the city.

That night still bothered Mark, suspicion niggling away at the fore-front of his mind. There was no way Reese could have escaped alone. He knew Carter had helped him escape, he had no question about that—although without any evidence he was rather stumped—but even if she had gone so far as to assist him down the stairs, he couldn't have gotten away so quickly. Someone else had come and taken Reese, someone who knew him, worked with him.

Who was watching Reese now?


	5. Chapter 5

**HAHA two chapters in one day. Again, I-AM-JANUS helped. I own nothing**

**Chapter Six: Learning**

**Six Months Later**

Time dragged for John in his prison, only made worse by the pent up energy radiating beneath his skin. He hated being trapped, hated the feeling of being a lab rat. He wondered what Finch was doing. Looking for him? Definitely, and worrying himself sick while he was at it. The man was a worrier, and would doubtlessly be in a state by the time John got out of the prison—and oh, he would get out. He almost smiled at the thought of the relieved, reprimanding look that would be on his friend's face.

It had been a long time since he had a friend. The closest thing he had had to a friend was Stanton, and she had been pretty quick to turn and shoot him. But Harold was different; he had come to get him when he had been shot risked it when he should have stayed away—the idiotic bravery still stumped John.

He knew that he would get out, either from finding a lucky escape opportunity, or Finch finding him. But meanwhile, the blank time allowed blackness to creep forward. He was a bloody warrior, a man with no tomorrow, someone who broke people. He had been an outcast for a long time, but now the wings provided him with a physical manifestation.

A metallic snap, jolted John out of his musings. He looked up as a tray slid through the hatch on his door: lunch. In the beginning, he had been extremely wary of touching anything that lunatic gave him, but eventually hunger had convinced him that Stokes was not trying to kill him… currently. Today's meal consisted of grilled chicken and vegetables. Initially, he had been uneasy about eating poultry-especially the wings- but he had dismissed it since he was sure he wasn't part chicken.

About an hour after John had finished his meal, he began to feel sleepy, his muscles were sluggish and his mind was muddled. He had tried to fight the effects, but eventually he had succumbed.

When he finally woke up, he was again in a new room. Awkwardly he climbed to his feet. This room was massive and strange. The It was white, like the other rooms, but the floor was padded and the area had been outfitted with pillars, balconies, and suspended platforms, all padded. Like some sort of sanitarium obstacle course. He didn't like the atmosphere, but it was better than being strapped down in a lab he thought dryly. As he turned his neck he noticed something around his neck. Apprehensively, he touched it. It was a collar. John was humiliated; he had been collared like a dog. Resentfully, he reflected on the irony of that analogy. He had been the CIA's dog for far too long. Doing whatever his _master_ said: stay, go, heel,…kill. Until, the company had decided to put him down, but he had escaped. Once again he was property only now he was collared rather than leashed.

Lost in these morose thoughts, he didn't noticed Stokes as he slithered in from a door behind him.

"Today is a special day, Nemamiah" crowed the scientist. John's only reaction was a slight twitch at the interruption. Slowly, Reese turned to face his adversary. Stokes had a maniacal smile on his face and a mad glimmer in his eyes. Although he kept his face stoic, the untrained wings twitched in fear. Last time he had seen that expression he had ended up with a dozen needles jammed in his back.

Unpertrerbed, the psychopath continued," It's finally time for us to start working on what I designed you to do: fly.

Seriously? Reese shot an icy glare at the other man, his mouth set in a resolute line. The enthusiastic smile melted from Stokes face and morphed into a malicious grin. Reese didn't scare easy but even he feared what that expression boded for him.

With his eyes fixed on his prisoner, Stokes retrieved what appeared to be a small control with a single button from his pocket. Deliberately he raised it into his captive's line of sight."Nemamiah" he purred, "If you're not going to be cooperative, perhaps you need a little incentive." Still smiling he pushed the button.

Instantly, electricity raced from the collar around John's neck. Causing him to crash to his hands and knees. Breathing heavily, Reese raised his eyes to meet the mad man's gaze.

Ignoring the ex-operative's gaze, the captor continued.

"Now the idea of the course is relatively simple, you climb up to the balcony and reach the end of the course by jumping from the pillars and platforms. Of course, some of the obstacles are quite far apart; you'll need your wings to help you. Naturally, if you fail to cooperate that's what the collar is for. So what will it be?"

Quickly, John went through his options. A) Refuse to cooperate and get electrocuted B) Cooperate and learn how to fly. Cooperating wasn't surrender he reassured himself. It was only logical that if he was going to stuck with a giant pair of wings, he might as well know how to use them.

"Fine, I'll do the course," He stated acidly.

Instantly the previous enthusiastic expression was back. John wanted to punch him.

Stiffly, John made his way to the starting point, the first jump wasn't far, about three feet, but the swinging of the platform almost sent him crashing to the ground. Opening his wings slightly, he quickly regained his balance and continued. On and on he went, the obstacles getting progressively farther apart. The final obstacle was nearly twelve feet away. Bracing himself John leapt into the empty air, awkwardly he managed to half land on the pad. He made it.

This exercise was repeated daily, with the obstacles getting slowly farther apart. Until, he was forced to glide from each. One day he flew.

His jailor even provided him with clothes: black shirts and pants. He gave John a pair of specially designed black shoes; they were lightweight and tough so as to not interfere with his flight.

John had always been restless, even before his…change. Maybe that was why he had joined the military. The military guaranteed traveling across the globe... and near encounters with death. Now with the power of flight tingling through his senses, he was more restless than ever. He longed for freedom and sunlight; the thirst for them nearly drove him into a fever. The ceilings felt like were closing down on him. He had to try to escape.

Carefully he formulated a plan. He forced himself to be extremely docile, even went so far as calling Stokes 'father.' He pretended he didn't even remember his former life, and he loathed every moment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Taking a Chance**

**Hello, Sorry I took so long to update school has been NUTS. Here's the update. We are getting near the end there should only be a few more chapters. Anyways, I own nothing. Enjoy and please review.**

**Several Weeks Later**

**Reese**

Over time Stokes seemed to have begun to trust him and had stopped shackling him every time he moved him. It nearly drove John over the edge biding his time and waiting for the right moment.

Finally, It was one of these times that Reese took his chance. John pushed down the mad scientist and took off towards the stairs he had seen on one of his previous trips. Time seemed to move in slow motion with the stairs slowly getting closer. He had nearly made it to the steps, when his attempt was crushed. It seemed Stokes was not as taken with his act as he had thought.

Electricity coursed through his body as the barbs of the stun gun met his lower back. Caught in the jolts of energy, Reese crashed to the ground. Instantly, Stokes' hard face was looming over his prone form. Immediately, John found himself shacked and cuffed. He felt as the mad man pulled him up by the underarms arms and began to drag him in the opposite direction. His wings dragged limply along the ground.

When Stokes finally reached his destination, he roughly dropped his prisoner and sedated him. He couldn't believe his angel had tried to escape him, and after all he had done for him. He had created him: perfected him.

Angrily he turned and opened the door he had stopped in front of. This room was empty except for two chains located on opposite walls of the room and a pulley connected to the aforementioned chains. Roughly, he again grasped Reese and dragged him into the room.

Reese was dazedly aware of what was happening, but he couldn't get his muscles to move. Soon he found himself chained by both hands. Next, Stokes used the pulley to lift him until the winged man was suspended by his arms while his feet brushed the floor.

"Oh, Nemamiah" The unstable man began. His face was calm but his voice soft and dangerous.

"Don't you know what I've done for you? How long I had to work and experiment to get the process right? How many people died before I was able to perfect it? I created you. I treated you like my son!" As he finished his voice raised to a shout.

"What do you do? You try and run away. Well, my son. I am not about to lose you. I worked too hard to make you. You belong to me and I am never going to let you leave."

With that said, Stokes began to beat him. The scientist's fist pounded into Reese's torso, face, and occasionally his arms, but he was careful to avoid damaging the wings. John was sure he felt one of his ribs crack under one of the relentless punches but he took it. Stokes didn't stop until Reese was bloody and hung limply from the chains. Satisfied, Stokes wiped the blood from his hands, left the room, and locked the door behind him leaving his creation hanging from the chains.

* * *

**Finch**

At Last, He finally had a lead on the identity of Doctor Autobahn. After all this time, He was almost positive that the serial killer was a one Dr. Gus Stokes PhD, MD, age sixty-one. According to all his research, Dr Stokes had been making leaps and bound in the medical field but had retired after having a near death experience twenty years prior. All that was left to do was to Alert the FBI, in particular a Special Agent Pete Counsel that had asked to be assigned to the case when his cousin became one of the victims.

* * *

Special Agent Counsel was frustrated, he had been working on this case ever since he had had lost his cousin, Robert. He could still picture Robert with his wide grin and wild black hair. They had been as close as brothers ever since they were toddlers. Now, he was gone all because some psycho had decided to use him as a guinea pig.

Counsel was jolted out of his thoughts when his phone started to ring. Sighing, He picked it up. "Agent Counsel," he answered in a monotone. "Agent, this is important. I'm calling with information regarding the Doctor Autobahn case," said a tense voice. Pete immediately paid attention. The caller proceeded to lay out the evidence of the killer's identity and possible location. Apparently, Autobahn was really someone called Dr Gus Stokes and was thought to currently be in a warehouse property in New York. Before Pete even had time to ask any questions the mystery informer had hung up.

With renewed vigor, Counsel began to check out all the information he had just received. All of it had backed up, even the location of the warehouse. The warehouse, located in a mostly abandoned part of the city, had been using a massive amount of power in the last eight months and was indeed a property of the suspect. He was to jump up and cheer, finally had a break in the case.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello Everyone. I have to say this is the most successful fic I have ever written. I am so happy got so many requests to continue:-) I haven't updated in while since I have been pretty busy with college applications. I have no idea if it is possible to pick a lock with a feather or about FBI procedure. Anyway, this is probably going to be the chapter before last. I own nothing.**

John groaned. Slowly, he peeled open his eyes. He was still strung up by his arms, but fortunately he had lowered so that he rested on his knees. Carefully, he forced his wobbly legs into a standing position. He could feel several bruises and cuts that were littered over his face and torso and he was sure he had at least one cracked rib. Furthermore, his shoulders were sore from holding his weight; however, it did not seem that his wings were damaged in any way.

He hung his head in defeat. His "_brilliant" _escape plan had failed, and he highly doubted Stokes would give him another bid for freedom. Bitterly, he clenched his fists. Unknown to John, outside the premises, the FBI was preparing to storm the property.

* * *

Counsel glanced suspiciously at the sturdy fence. The place was a damn fortress, getting in was going to be hard in and of itself. However, the thought of finally catching a monster like Dr. Autobahn was enough motivation for anything he might have to do. He could still picture his Aunt's face as her tears streamed down her face when she learned about the death of her son. This was personal.

* * *

Stokes watched the FBI's proceedings from his security system. "No," he growled as he saw them preparing to invade his stronghold. He had been so careful, sparing no expense to keep everything hidden. How did they even find him? However they had accomplished that feat was not important now; he would not allow them to get their hands on his research, himself, or his angel. He would die before he let that happen. With that in mind, the mad man began to set the building on fire. After a few minutes, smoke started to pour out of the room and and stream through the vent system, filling the other rooms of the bunker.

* * *

Counsel pushed though the thin haze of smoke. He was too close to turn back now. There had to be some key that would answer all the questions. Who was the last victim? What had happened to him to make all of this suddenly stop? Why hadn't he been reported missing?

Despite the smoke that was beginning to sting his eyes, he continued down the clouded hallway. He noticed an open door on his right. Carefully he peered inside the room, and he saw what appeared to be some sort of prison cell. Once he was in the room Counsel noticed several black feathers lying on the floor. The room appeared to be lived in, whoever the mysterious man was, he was still in the burning building.

Smoke lazily began to waif from the vent into John's current cell. He could hear the commotion farther down the hallway. This was just the diversion he needed; he had another chance to get out of this prison. Frustrated, he pulled at the chains. "No," he chided himself. He had to pick the locks.

Rapidly, his eyes scanned the surrounding for anything to use. He noticed one of his feathers resting on the floor. That was it. Delicately, he raised one of his wings until the feathers were brushing his fingers. Grasping a large feather, he plucked it from its place. Using the strong quill of the feather to pick the lock, soon his arm was free. Shifting his arm, he deftly used the tool to open the other lock. Gingerly, John rubbed his raw wrists.

Halfway there, unfortunately the door was another matter entirely. The door was metal with no keyholes or handle of any kind on his side. Angrily, John slammed a fist into the obstacle.

Counsel jumped when he heard a bang from the door parallel to him. Cautiously he touched the door. This door was metal like all the others and locked. As he stepped back he heard a metallic russel as his foot brushed something. Reaching down he picked up a key chain. "You've got to be kidding," he muttered. Skeptically he pushed the key into the lock.

A black-clad man stood in the room. He was dark-haired and tall. Bruises and blood were strewn across any visible skin. But he had wings. Gigantic, black wings billowing out behind him. Mutely, Counsel watched as the man rushed past him, wings slightly open as he ran.

The agents could only gape as the creature rushed past them towards the exit of the building. Then several of the agents burst into action, and rushed after the winged man into the night. The Angel paused before shooting into the night sky. All watched as the celestial being's wings glittered like obsidian in the pale light before he disappeared from their sight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Hello, here is the grand conclusion. Thanks for all the reviews. By the way, just a reminder, this is bromance not romance...not ever. I hope the ending is up to your expectations. As usual I own nothing.**

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Counsel looked ruefully from direction the mysterious man had flown, back to the burning warehouse. After all this time he finally knew what the "Good Doctor" had been up to but any more knowledge that could have been discovered had disappeared in the smoke. But he could deal with that, now that he knew Stokes would never again kidnap and torture anyone else ever again. He'd avenged his cousin; finally, he could stop.

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John flew. After being trapped for all these months, he was finally free. As he soared, some unknown instinct guided his wings through the moving air. The wings were strong, fast, and silent. He wondered what kind of bird they were supposed to resemble.

Reese had been flying for some time when he realized he had no idea where he was going. Could he even go back to the Library? Uncertainly, he weighed his options. One one hand he could always just disappear. He had no family, no real job, no trail to his past. But on the other hand, there was Harold to consider. What would the owlish man think of his new extremities? Would he be disgusted because of them-or worse-scared of him? They had gone from employee and employer, to colleagues, to friends. How would the recluse react if he just disappeared? A tentative decision was made.

He deduced what would be the best way to get to their headquarters. It definitely wouldn't be a good idea to fly all the way there-seeing as a flying man isn't exactly subtle. Silently, Reese flew to Central Park and alighted in the dark area.

He glanced at the surrounding area; it looked like it was Autumn, and his wings were slightly fluffed against the chill. His heart sank. Had he really been gone that long?

He hoped that no one had seen him land in the park. The thought of having escaped his prison, only to end up in some federal laboratory was incredibly unappealing. John was sure he never, ever, wanted to see another lab as long as he lived.

Due to the fact that he had to avoid lights and people in general, it took him a lot longer to get to his destination. Fortunately, the few people that he wasn't able to avoid weren't coherent enough to process what they had just seen. For instance, a couple of _very _drunk business men cheered and complimented him on his "costume."

Finch was practically having a panic attack as he read the FBI's report on the raid for 'Doctor Autobahn.' In summary, it mostly said that the suspect Dr. Gus Stokes had not been apprehended at the scene and that a tall man that appeared to have wings who quote "flew away." Harold wasn't sure what to think about the wings and flying part but the important part was that the mystery man was most likely John. Where did he disappear to? Was he even planning on coming back?

It was about two in the morning when John finally reached the library. Carefully John checked every direction before he approached the door of the library. He skillfully picked the lock using a disposed piece of wire he had found, and soundlessly, entered the building. Everything looked the same; the books were still scattered around the floor, and he could see a faint light from the upper floor of the building.

John decided to take advantage of his newly attained ability of flight, and with a few flaps of his wings, he was at the top of the staircase. Noiselessly, John rounded the corner and walked past the book shelves towards the yellow light. A wave of familiarity passed over him. As he drew closer to the computer room he couldn't help but smile; there was Harold sleeping slumped over his desk with his glasses hanging off his face.

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Finch blearily peeled open his eyes. He had fallen asleep! However, he was jolted out his self-berating when he noticed a shadow in the corner of his gaze. Unsure of what he would see, he slowly swiveled his chair. And nearly had a heart attack. Reese was standing in his usual corner next to the book rack. He was dressed in black pants, shoes and a torn shirt, but what Harold couldn't believe was the wings. WINGS! He had been extremely skeptical of the FBI report, and had simply pinned the blame on whatever chemicals Stokes had been using. Tearing his eyes way from the _appendages, _Harold raised his eyes to John's face. He could see the uneasiness in the stormy blue eyes and the fear in his clenched jaw.

Mentally slapping himself out of the pointless inspection he made eye contact with his friend.

"I suppose you flew up here then," Finch said with a carefully straight face.

"Yes," the uncertainty was etched on the taller man's features.

Finch smiled. "Perhaps, this could be..._incentive _for our perpetrators to change their minds if they are superstitious enough.

"I'm not an angel Finch," said Reese with his signature smirk.

Finch reflected on this, the other man didn't realize just how close to an angel he was.

**THE END**

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**Well that's all folks. I hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think.  
**

**J.C  
**


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